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Best Poems Written by Ibrahim Clouds

Below are the all-time best Ibrahim Clouds poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

Pride Or Love

A girl whose beauty springs from her heart-,
her image in the album of my mind-
is like a golden waxing moon
exhaling torrent of light into a river,
but she in her real self is my love,
this is us in the planet of joy.
.
.
We shared poems to share joy,
but hers clinged to my heart.
with a promise of an eternal love,
which her words inscribed in my mind,
like the golden tears pouring into the river,
from the meek eyes of the moon.
.
We once sat under the moon,
with the golden light wetting us with joy.
You talked and poured an endless river-
of bliss and tranquility into my heart,
you have cleared the field of my mind-
and planted roses of love.
.
But now that I am for you, oh love-
why have you erased my pride? like the moon
that vanish at the birth of the sun. My mind
used to caress pride with joy-
but now that love is in my heart
I have lost my pride's river.
.
You spat into me like a dirty river-
because I am now enslaved by love
which govern the realm of my heart,
like over the night does the moon,
but I will enjoy the slavery with joy
and erase every pride from my mind.
.
It took me a while to cast away my mind
from pride's river,
although it seem like I was loosing my joy-
but much joy I now will receive from love,
So let me write a poem to you under the moon,
to tell you that love is better than pride in my heart.
.
My heart wont hold pride and love-
so let me accept love for it is a moon in the river
of my mind. oh my dear, be my joy.

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

To Your Dead Father

Ah! death the deceiver,
"come,lie,relax and 
take a deep slumber",
with sweet lies,
death deceived your father,
from piles of wrapper
 to his ghostly dormitory,
on a bed with earth as coverings.

let this musical notes be carried,
by the white dove bird,
along the hallowed path he ascend,
may be they will give him strength,
to fight his way back to us.

but he looks not back,
his soul is gone to hide,
from death,
from us
 and above the sky.

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

A Letter To Up

Some birds flew through air
making a clean hollow path
the sun shifts away
soapy spongy white clouds
wash clear the blue faced bright sky

This is the best time
to write a letter to GOD
on HIS holy THRONE
in HIS great mighty PALACE
visitors are purified.

dear LORD in heaven
the poors are crowned with sufferings
sickness eats our health
our pots are lonely for food
thirst plant weeds in our throats

corruption, here, there
gayism is now a pride
lesbianism grows
our rights are flowing away
look upon us with mercy

Darkness is now light
our hearts are feeding on spikes
tears now bloor our eyes
the righeous men are suffering
evil men are enjoying.

Tankas on tankas
how many shall i so use
to explain my view
which is dying and breathing
save us GOD, fro great darkness.

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

An Half-Buried Corncob

Calling and hooting
to the wind tiptoeing
along the terrified face
of the wriggling curtain
looking through the window
at the trees and their dark ghosts
casted upon the blood of
the moon o'er the floor-
where loll a breathless frog
silent as a voiceless doll,
the wind to the wall came
now pulling on the curtain
to drag it under the rain,
where under the soil
an half-buried corncob.

The thunder-stricken eyes
of the silence is slized
with the crying of a cock
symphatised with the clock
burying yesternight 
in the grave of the calender
and not under the floor
where there's an half-buried corncob.

As the dawn is fallen
the sun is rising
with a brand new light
spreading over the grave of yester-night
in the graveyard of the calender
which was from a sweetheart
a girl with lips stolen from heaven
who was once by this oven
baking her birthday cake
while the radius of her waist
I measure without a tape
but the hope to have a taste
both of the cake and her lips
which is more red or gold
red than the chilly rose
gold than the dripping oil of the sun
where loll the half-buried corncob.

The cock at watch
with his eyes afore
casting the rays
where the head is raised
the head of a somnambulistic worm
from where loll the half-buried corncob.
O'er my bed
worries bereft
under the blanket I loll
like the half-buried corncob.

It's the hatching of Sunday
hatching under the sunrays-
the egg of an angry hen
cracking under my pen
for how beautifully I draw it
without my drawing things,
I painted a drop of blood
where loll an half-buried corncob.

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

If I Were That Rose

If I were that rose
[purple]from the breath of may,
I would preach love
not the blood of heartbreaks.

If I were that rose
my necter I shall give freely,
and not as a loan
given to the poor out of greed.

If I were that rose
by the horizontal splashing of water,
I will not tell the folks-
that ponder the scene of me and the ocean's shower,
about the storms and troubles of the sea-
but of the enjoyment of the beach.

If I were that rose-
alone amidst a battalion of Aphids,
my redness will glow-
to say my prayers- oh God help me.

If I were that rose-
dreading the claws of spider mites,
I would use my shadow-
to scare away the enemies might.

If I were that rose-
in the hazy wind of harmmatan,
I would put on a coat-
of hope, without yearning for a cardigan.
for yearning is the root of pain
and attraction takes sanity away.

If I were that rose-
wilting in the hands that pluck me,
I would bear no sorrow-
but let death deal gently with me.

If I were that rose-
that left behind not a single seed,
I would relax my brows-
for in many hearts my soul will live.

If I were that rose-
in the dualities of life,
I would welcome both-
the eas and the strife.

©®Ibrahim Clouds(SWC).

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

Lost Coins of Poems

One golden coin of poem,
 under mother's frail old bed,
 hiding in it's bright darkness,
 undiscovered by who know's who,
 but here it is in my poetry book,
 and your eyes roll and loll along, 
to hide this coin in your purse. 

Two silver coins of poems, 
sleeping in the sea and on its bed,
 covered by the wriggling wrappers,
 of dancing old corals, 
hiding from straying sailors,
who lustfully venture, 
seas that hide and hold,
 precious glittering coins or stones.

Three bronzy coins of poems, 
laying and waning just over there, 
among those rubbish of cans, 
and dancing buzzing flies, 
by the side of cars path, 
and unnoticed by your eyes,
 but here it is in my poetic plate, 
as i shout "coins of poems for sale".

Details | Ibrahim Clouds Poem

Enslave Us Again

ENSLAVE US AGAIN!!!
''''''''''''''''''''''""""""""""""""
How slavery unites men-
how chains made us friends.

How the Glossolalia of that tribe-
was learnt by this tribe.

How we shared the same breath-
and the same bugs in our beds.

How the ships that bore us- 
listened to the chorus-
of our sorrows in brotherhood
as we shared the same wound.

How the ship sank-
with some of our brothers-
and how in our tears' tank
sink our eyes accross the borders.

We were tied together-
our hearts made stronger,
was it the chain that united us?
oh white men! come and enslave us.

For the freedom that should unite-
is now the god-father of seperation,
If in bondage we were tied-
we would, together, come.

Once upon a time-
slavery united us,
where now is our family ties?
broken by the sword of freedom.

Oh mother! you were right
and grandmother was truthful,
foes are made friend in the eyes
of calamities and troubles.

Let that chain be back-
to tie together the seperated hands,
and to close the crack-
and the borders estraging the three tribes.

©®Ibrahim Clouds(SWC)